


When Preparation Meets Opportunity

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:17:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1700 words, Supernatural.<br/>John/Dean. Written for the spnkink_meme. Request: Horny teenage Dean has problems concentrating when they're hunting. John tries prostate milking as a way to keep him thinking straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Preparation Meets Opportunity

Dean is already waiting in the bathroom when John gets back from his supply run. Sam is bent over his books and barely glances up when John walks in. Their crappy tv is on, volume up loud enough to hear but not enough to piss off Sam while he works and John knows without asking that it's Dean's doing. He plunks down the paper bag of supplies on the kitchen counter without a word and heads off to the bathroom.

It's tiny and cramped, and the door's not locked. He opens the door just enough to step inside, bumping into Dean as he closes and locks it behind him. Dean's pants are already down around his ankles, head bent down and hands braced on the sink right next to the lube and paper coffee cup precariously balanced on the cracked porcelain. Even from this angle he can see the flush creeping up Dean's cheeks.

John reaches up and lays a hand on the back of Dean's neck and gives a gentle squeeze that he hopes is reassuring. He knows Dean is embarrassed about this; ashamed to admit that his own body is betraying him like this, distracting him while he's hunting to the point where John has to step in and take care of things. No amount of words from John could make that easier for Dean even if John was any good with words in the first place, so they keep this a secret from Sammy and John tries his best to act like it's no big deal.

He takes another minute to work out the stiffness in his hands, get the blood flowing again after being out in the cold.

"Spread a bit," he says in a low voice and Dean leans forward and steps apart as wide as he can with his jeans and boxers still in the way. His breathing is unsteady and he's pointedly staring down at the floor, avoiding looking anywhere near the mirror or at John. 

John knows he'll get over it eventually; this embarrassment over taking care of his own body. With age comes the wisdom to know you take any advantage you can get.

John reaches down to trace his fingers underneath Dean's balls. He's a little swollen, they haven't had a chance lately to take care of this - too much time on the road and staying in too close quarters to manage without Sam getting suspicious. He can feel Dean fighting the instinct to close his legs, staying spread and exposed out of sheer force of will and John is proud of him for it.

Dean flinches when he hears the quiet snick of the cap of the lube popping open. 

"Relax," John mutters and watches as Dean's hands flex and loosen on the edge of the sink. Good, he thinks, and keeps up a steady stream of barely audible encouragement. The words themselves don't seem important; the sound of his voice and his calm tone enough to allow Dean to relax. 

He strokes his hand down Dean's back and pulls away just far enough to give him room to slick up his fingers. The tube gets tossed back in the sink and Dean reaches out blindly for the cup, tipping it and holding it carefully just under the head of his cock. No need to mess up a perfectly clean pair of jeans before they've even started the hunt, and even if Dean sometimes has trouble holding it steady it helps John gauge just how much he can get and how often Dean needs this.

John's hand goes back to cupping Dean's balls, the other slipping down to brush over Dean's hole, just enough of a touch to give him some warning before he starts to push in. 

Dean's shoulder's hunch up at the press of his fingers and the cup in his hand wavers and then steadies, but his lower body stays relaxed and John lets out a relieved sigh. It'd taken a while to get Dean used to this part, stretching out and relaxing enough to allow the intrusion without making things more uncomfortable than they needed to be.

John is close enough he can hear the change in Dean's breathing from shallow and unsteady to deep and slow; regulated. Even relaxed, Dean is amazingly tight around his fingers, hot and silky smooth and it's far too easy to imagine spending all day exploring him just like this.

He pushes in steadily until his knuckles are pressing against Dean's ass and stills for a minute, giving Dean time to adjust. A few slow thrusts loosen him up enough to move a little more freely. John twists his hand and crooks his fingers, doesn't have to search for long before he feels the shiver that runs through Dean's body when he brushes against the target.

A small noise catches in Dean's throat and his head drops farther down, chin resting against his chest.

"Okay?"

"Yessir," Dean slurs, voice coming out rougher and half an octave lower than usual.

John stays on task, fingers working right against Dean's prostate, trying to switch up the length and pressure of the strokes but never working it too hard. He's careful about it, consistent and focused. Dean starts panting, shallow breaths exhaled in time with John's hand and soft whimpers that make John thankful Dean left the tv on outside.

Dean's first orgasm comes fast, spilling into the paper cup that Dean only barely manages to hold steady. 

"Easy, easy," John whispers, not bothering to slow down just yet. There's sweat gathering on the back of Dean's neck, along his hairline and just underneath his chin. John presses his face into the slightly damp curls of hair just above Dean's ear, still talking in a low voice and not bothering to worry about the words.

Dean leans back against him, John taking on some of his weight as he comes down. For a few minutes he is almost completely still, chest moving and throat working for air but otherwise lax. John can tell he's coming back to himself when he starts whimpering, down from the high and feeling John's fingers still working him. Dean groans and John hushes him. The tv sin't enough to cover everything, and there's no point to doing this if they aren't going to see it through. 

Dean's second orgasm builds more slowly, comes harder and half of it ends up streaking down Dean's hand and the side of the cup. It isn't much of an offering anyway. 

John gives him a bit of a break, leaves his fingers in but stops moving for a bit, pulls out halfway so he can add more lube. When he reaches back to feel Dean's balls he can feel the change; less swollen, not quite as heavy as before. They've made good progress so far, but there's still more to go and this last part is always the hardest.

"You still okay?" John asks, examining Dean's face in the mirror, at least as much of it as he can see. There's sweat beading on Dean's forehead and he's got his bottom lip clenched between his teeth.

Dean nods jerkily.

"Alright. Just a little bit further now."

Dean nods again, less certain this time. 

John knows he's probably biting back a plea to stop, but this is for the best. Waiting much longer will only make it more difficult, and it puts off the hunt which has gone on for too long already. He starts with shallow thrusts, listens carefully to Dean's slow exhale for any sign of pain but hears none. The boy is probably slightly sore by now; wrung out, but not in pain.

The third time takes the longest, builds up the slowest. 

John has to be careful now, even more than before - John doesn't want to push too hard but can't risk losing momentum. Dean curls in on himself, bending over the sink and groaning loud enough that Sammy might hear. John has to reach up with his other hand and wrap it over Dean's mouth, holding tight but careful not to block his nose, breathing already too shallow.

Dean had managed to stay perfectly still before - obedience and training winning out over instinct and discomfort, but it only lasts so long. He pulls away now, hips pressed hard into the edge of the sink and trying to get away. John doesn't bother trying to talk him through this one, knows by now the sensations are more pain than pleasure and regrets having to do this even if he knows it's necessary. 

All the same, Dean's hand stays braced on the sink and the other is crumpling the flimsy cardboard of the cup. John knows the rest will probably spill but there won't be much anyway so he doesn't worry about it.

Dean is shaking and barely stays on his feet the last time he comes, sagging back and John just barely manages to pull out and catch him before he hits the floor. John kneels on the floor and pulls Dean back towards him, cradled between his legs and nearly unconscious. 

John carefully pries the crumpled cup from Dean's hand, still clutching it even though the rest of his body has gone limp. It's not exactly comfortable; far too small a space for two grown men to fit in without scrunching up and Dean's legs are tucked under the sink at awkward angles but they've both dealt with worse and Dean seems too far gone to care.

John reaches around and grabs a damp washcloth from the side of the tub and wipes off his hands and cleans Dean off as gently as he can. Dean stirs a bit at the feel of the cold washcloth on his cock, turning his face into the crook of John's neck.

"'m I?" Dean mumbles.

"Yeah, you're done. You did good."

Dean doesn't answer, just huddles in closer to John's chest and sighs when John's hand comes up to stroke through his hair.


End file.
